


Liberation In Submission

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Patron Minette Week 2013 (1-7 Dec) [7]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Begging, Crying, Dom/sub, Kink Exploration, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Tongue Piercings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius/Montparnasse - darkness and innocence, and the benefits of consensuality. Lots of D/s play, veering into darker stuff, and background Combeferre/Claquesous and Enjolras/Feuilly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberation In Submission

_**Marius/Montparnasse - darkness and innocence, and the benefits of consensuality. Lots of D/s play, veering into darker stuff, and background Combeferre/Claquesous and Enjolras/Feuilly.** _

When Combeferre started dating Claquesous, none of the amis were happy about it. He got none of the full and vocal support Enjolras and Feuilly had received when they’d begun dating, even if no one actually protested.

They were uncomfortable with it. Claquesous was a tall man, rakish yet muscled, with long red hair that hung down straight around his head, and he was terrifying. There were rumours, rumours of Claquesous’ cruelty and of his violence, rumours that he walked in circles none of them could ever even consider, rumours that he wore masks in certain circles because the things he did were both sadistic and illegal.

And yet Combeferre was content with it. After four months, he was neither dead nor permanently scarred, and was happy. He laughed as usual, he got on with his job at the library, and when Claquesous came to the Musain to pick Combeferre up one evening, Combeferre’s face was ecstatic, and he moved forwards to pull the other man down into a kiss, and Claquesous  _dipped_  him like they were protagonists in some romantic play, holding him close.

They all stared as Claquesous pulled Combeferre up again, and Claquesous murmured something in Combeferre’s ear that made him snort, his cheeks and the tips of his ears flushing scarlet. 

Courfeyrac didn’t like it, but he had no wish to invade Combeferre’s space, or to deny his right to choose his partners, and after all, Combeferre was happy, and he was content, and he was rational, and they trusted his judgement even if they did not trust his partner.

When Marius came to a meeting at the Musain with the infamous Miljan Montparnasse on his arm, Courfeyrac lost all sense of reason, and lost all knowledge of Marius’ reason and rationality. He threw himself forwards, threw Montparnasse back against the wall and away from his friend to grasp at his neck.

"Don’t you touch him, God, you’re a fucking  _criminal_ , if you hurt him I’ll-“

Montparnasse had a knife out in a second, poised to Courfeyrac’s neck in a mirror of the way the taller man was gripping at his neck. “Hey! Hey, hey, what are you-” Marius yelped and then flustered between them, shifting forwards and grasping Montparnasse’s hand with no care for the blade, pulling it away before pulling Courfeyrac back.

Combeferre moved forwards in an easy stride, grasping at Courfeyrac’s shoulder and keeping him in place should he lose his temper again. “What the fuck are you doing with him?” Courfeyrac directed the sharply toned question at Montparnasse, but it was Marius who answered.

"He took me to the movies." He said, and he sounded hurt and absolutely baffled. "What was  _that_  about?”

"He’s- he’s a fucking criminal, Marius, look at him with his fucking knife, you can’t- you can’t-" Courfeyrac began to stammer, completely uncertain what to say, and now his rationality returned to him, and he considered how he’d given Combeferre free rein with Claquesous, and how none of them were intervening, but this- this was  _Marius_.

Courfeyrac wasn’t exactly going to say “ _he’s my baby_ ”, but he’d grown up with Marius, as close as if Pontmercy was his younger brother, and this? It was terrifying.

Marius stared at him. “You didn’t attack Claquesous.”

"That’s different." Courfeyrac said immediately, and God, it wasn’t fair to say things when Marius was looking at him like this, with wide eyes and his lips parted, and he looked  _agonized_  on top of his complete confusion.

"Why? Because Combeferre’s Combeferre and I’m Marius? Do you really think I’m an  _idiot_?” Montparnasse’s lips, painted with black lipstick like Prouvaire wore, thinned into a sharp line, and he looked ready to say something, but Marius caught his hand. All of the  _amis_  were watching the both of them, and Marius caught many of their eyes, his cheeks flushing a bright scarlet as he looked at all their faces. “Is that it? Pontmercy is a fucking  _idiot_  who can’t be trusted to make his own decisions?”

Courfeyrac rarely heard Marius swear, simply because he was so taken with being polite all the time, and now the word jolted him, and Combeferre caught him as he stumbled a little.

"Marius, I just want you safe-" He stared, but Marius stamped his foot hard on the ground, the sound reverberating in the silent room.

"You want Combeferre safe, and you still let him do as he pleased! You want Enjolras safe, you want Feuilly safe, but they’re alright together! But no, of course, I forgot, Marius Pontmercy is just  _stupid_  and  _naive_ , and he doesn’t know what he’s  _fucking_  doing because- because-“ 

Marius was sobbing, and Montparnasse put his hands on the other’s shoulder, drawing him back and settling him into a chair, murmuring in his ear as he scowled, but Marius was shaking his head, and Courfeyrac  _ached_.

He tried to move forwards, but Montparnasse stood and wheeled on him in an instant, his hands clasped into fists at his side and his shoulders forwards, and he looked as ready to stab Courfeyrac as ever, even though the knife had disappeared.

"Montparnasse." Marius protested, and he stepped down immediately, moving behind Marius instead, but he wasn’t quiet.

"I am not here to divide you. I am not here for your  _approval_ ,” And the way he looked around the room was vicious. When he spoke, the glint of silver in his mouth, the bar through his tongue, was obvious, and something about the sight of it made Courfeyrac  _fume_. ”Or your permission, and nor is  _he_.” Marius was quiet, his lip quavering like it always did when he cried, his eyes red and wet, and he still wept, but now it was quiet, without the ragged noises he’d been making moments before.

Courfeyrac hated it when Marius cried.

"Montparnasse." Combeferre said quietly. "We know. They know. Courfeyrac is impulsive and over-protective." And Courfeyrac bowed his head, cowed at the words from his most trusted friend, but unable to disagree. "It’s your choice if you wish to be together."

"I just wanted to come out for a drink." Marius mumbled, and he said it to his sweater more than he said it to Combeferre, or to Courfeyrac. Grantaire stood, and he stepped forwards, leaning and pressing a deliberate kiss to Marius’ cheek, murmuring something in his ear. He managed a weak laugh, and he let Grantaire pull him up to his feet. 

Enjolras and Feuilly weren’t present, out on some (oh so romantic) museum trawl, and Joly and Bossuet were with Musichetta in the south of France for the next week. Bahorel shifted in his chair, regarding Prouvaire silently, as if for advice, and Jehan shrugged.

"If this is your choice, it is your choice. We will neither push you nor pull you back, and that is right." He said finally, and Bahorel hummed. 

"I’ll kick the shit out of you if you hurt him, ‘Parnasse." And Montparnasse looked affronted, but Bahorel went on. "Ruin that pretty face of yours. Claquesous won’t want to take his fuckin’ mask off ever again if he hurts Combeferre, neither."

The librarian’s lip twitched, and Combeferre chuckled a little, but the joke was lost on those who were not him and Bahorel, and so no one else laughed.

Courfeyrac shifted on his feet, taking in a slow breath. “I am sorry.” He said finally, and Marius inclined his head slightly, moving his hand from Grantaire’s and into Montparnasse’s, where he leaned against the other man. “I just- I don’t want you hurt.”

"You can feel that way without patronizing him, Courf." Grantaire said, and he patted Marius’ shoulder before dropping back into his seat and pulling out his phone to text Éponine. 

"I want to go." Marius said firmly, wiping hard at his eyes with the heel of his hand, and he shifted uncomfortably as he did so.

"No, I didn’t mean you had to-" Courfeyrac started immediately, but Marius shook his head.

"No. We’ll be back tomorrow, but I want- I want to go home to bed." Montparnasse leaned, murmuring into his ear, and something in Courfeyrac’s stomach lurched as he saw the bar through his tongue move. He wanted to be sick.

Marius wanted to cry again, but he would leave it until he was home. Montparnasse was slow in leading him from the Musain, and they walked home together, Marius’ stride quicker, Montparnasse in loping steps that seemed languid, and yet he managed to keep up with Marius despite his lazy movements.

"I’m sorry." Montparnasse said as he plucked Marius’ keys from the other man’s pocket, unlocking his apartment door with full knowledge of the fact that Marius’ hands were shaking too wildly to allow him to do so himself. 

"S’not your fault." Marius mumbled, and he moved to wipe at his nose with the back of his sleeve, but Montparnasse caught his hand and held it above his head, bringing a handkerchief from his breast pocket to daub at Marius’ snotty nose and wet cheeks himself.

"It rather is. I should have shanked him while I had the chance."

"Montparnasse." Marius said reproachfully, and the dark-haired man hummed, his lip curling. 

"They won’t come around to me, you know. You are all from comfortably well-off families in comfortable lives," Montparnasse said, reaching out to adjust Marius’ collar in the way that made Marius feel safe, and comfortable, and taken-care-of, and neat. "And  _I_  am a reprehensible criminal who woos women and stabs people and  _pick-pockets_ , so the rumours tell me.”

"But you’re not a pick-pocket. You work in a dentist’s." Marius said plaintively, and Montparnasse laughed.

"And if you tell a soul, I’ll snap your neck." Marius grinned at the threat, even though his cheeks were still stained red from crying, and Montparnasse patted his cheek as he thought of his job with Babet and Gueulemer, working at the reception for the dentist and his assistant, and how lucky he was to have the placement. "Come, I think I should bed you."

"Bed me." Marius repeated, amused by the phrasing, and Montparnasse’s hands went cleverly to his own waistcoat, swiftly undoing the buttons. It fit him well, just like the purple shirt he wore beneath it, and the skinny jeans he wore them with, and his boots. All of Montparnasse’s clothes fit him perfectly, except for shirts of Marius that were a little big for him, and he’d stolen to wear around his apartment.

"Why, of course. Such a pretty, pretty face, how  _ever_  could one resist? You’ll read to me tonight.”

"Will I?" Marius asked.

"Yes. Prévert, please."

"With translations?"

"Of course, kitten, how else am I to understand the French?" Marius worked in a pokey little law office in the middle of town, but when he’d been younger he’d done translation, and Montparnasse insisted on hearing him translate. He, Marius discovered, had a love for poetry, and Pontmercy could not help but indulge him, for he liked it when Montparnasse smiled.

"Are you dangerous, Miljan?" Marius asked, and Montparnasse regarded him, looking thoughtful, pensive.

"Yes." He decided. "I’ve hurt people, you know. Cut people, left scars on them, beaten them to within an inch of their lives. I’ve stolen. I enjoy hurting people." He spoke honestly, because with Marius, just as Marius was with him, he was never anything but frank.

"And now you work in a dentist’s." Marius supplied, his smile teasing.

"And now I work in a dentist’s." Montparnasse agreed, and he set his shirt aside, folding it. His nakedness revealed the marble paleness of his chest, almost vampiric in its pallidity, and showed off the silver ring through his left nipple, the tattoo of an inked black apple ( _Poison apple, sweetling, for I am the fairest of them all (1)._ ) on his hip. “But I still enjoy hurting people. I still intimidate people in the streets for the fun of it. I still throw knives at the dartboard in the Corinthe even though Irma begs me not to.”

"It ruins the cork." Marius said sagely as Montparnasse’s pale, slender fingers set to work on his jumper, pulling it over his head before they moved to unbutton his shirt.

"So does letting ingrates spill beer on it - if anything, I’m doing it a favour." Montparnasse retorted, and Marius relaxed as Montparnasse ran his hands over Marius’ skin, feeling the warmth of it. Montparnasse’s hands were just as cold as the marble their colour matched, but Marius arched up all the same. "I’m going to suck this cock of yours, and you’re going to read me Prévert while I do it." Montparnasse murmured, and Marius groaned, dropping his head back as Montparnasse kissed his neck, undoing his jeans.

Montparnasse  _loved_  that game, loved to see Marius stammering through the words while he dragged the bar in his tongue up the raphe of his cock, or dipped that silver glint against Marius’ cockhead, and did all manner of other things that should have been  _illegal_ , they felt so good.

"Okay." Marius said dreamily, and he let Montparnasse lead him to the bedroom.

Marius interest in Montparnasse was not self-destructive, as Marius thought, as Grantaire had initially guessed at. Grantaire had engaged in such relationships before, but looking at Marius, he’d realized it wasn’t the case - Courfeyrac had not seen any alternative reason for Marius’ affection.

But Marius honestly  _liked_  Montparnasse. The dandy had given him his phone number when Marius had gone to the dentist’s a few months ago for a check-up, and he’d enjoyed Montparnasse’s quiet grace immediately.

He liked Montparnasse’s face, and the way he laughed, and the way he concentrated when he put on his make-up in the morning (and he also loved the way Montparnasse looked just having woken up, with a face clean of make-up and red, cherry lips one could scarcely believe hadn’t been painted), and the way he absent-mindedly adjusted Marius’ clothes in a vain attempt to make him more presentable.

He liked the way the other man talked, projected what he wanted with such a vociferous fashion that no one could ignore him, and yet a moment later he could be talking abstractly and poetically in a way that would stump even Prouvaire, even if Montparnasse wouldn’t read himself.

Montparnasse, he had quietly admitted, was dyslexic, and would very rarely consent to taking a book up himself. He had a reading card he kept over his breast and would use in the dentist’s office, but books? No.

They lazed in bed the next morning, Marius reading from Keats or from Byron or from Prévert, Baudelaire, Heaney - virtually anything Montparnasse picked at random from the shelf of Marius’ admittedly varied collection of poetry - being friends with Jehan Prouvaire came with required reading.

When they got up, it was just past eleven, but it was a Sunday and both of them had been blessed with the day off. Montparnasse moved into the kitchen, and they ate cereal, because Marius couldn’t cook and really, nor could Montparnasse. 

And then they settled companionably, Montparnasse sprawled on the sofa in a half-doze as he barely watched whatever film he’d turned on the television, and Marius with his laptop. Marius strayed from the regular news sites and Enjolras’ (increasingly) angry blog, instead moving into his history and looking at some of the more extreme stuff.

He did not hear Montparnasse move and slither across the room, but he felt the other man’s cold hands on his shoulders, slowly stroking down over his chest to play over his nipples with clever fingers. “Why, kitten, what  _ever_  are you looking at?” He asked in a low purr, nipping at Marius’ neck as his eyes followed Pontmercy’s to the laptop screen, and Marius’ eyelashes fluttered as he pressed back into Montparnasse’s mouth.

"Just some porn, not-"

"This is not porn." Montparnasse said in a quiet, rebuking tone, his hands sliding down Marius’ bare arms - because Montparnasse wore full length pyjamas of a silken, green material, and Marius only wore flannel PJ pants - to glance over his hand on the laptop, taking over the touchpad. "Kinbaku is an art, my friend. Shibari originates from Japan, where it was used to bind prisoners, as incarceration is different when you have few jails but much rope. It was eroticized more, known as shibari, back in the 1800s, and my, isn’t it _charming_?”

Marius let out a soft sound as Montparnasse’s breath ghosted over his neck, and he scrolled down the page, taking in the images. “Can you do this?”

"Claquesous can." Montparnasse murmured against Marius’ ear, and Marius wondered if he should find it so comforting to have Montparnasse draped across his back like this, his chin against Marius’ shoulder. "I think he did classes, actually." And that was a funny idea, to think of Claquesous being taught to tie ropes around someone in order to suspend them prettily, but then Marius remembered that Combeferre was dating Claquesous, and he flushed. "I can’t. I can do rope enough to bind a submissive to the bed, but not much more than that."

Marius was quiet for a few moments, contemplative. “Submissive?” He repeated.

"Mmm-hmm." Montparnasse said. "That sounds like a tone of recognition, kitten." Marius liked the way Montparnasse said kitten. It was affectionate, but still… Superior. Haughty, even, and that shouldn’t have excited Marius as much as it did. "May I look at the rest of your Internet history?"

"Mmm." Marius nodded, and Montparnasse leaned forwards, dainty fingers moving to the CTRL and H keys, and bringing up the most recent history. Montparnasse scrolled down, his eyes narrowing to examine the list before him, and he zoomed in. "Do you want me to read you them?"

Montparnasse did not bristle as Marius half expected him to. He just said, “Go on.”

"BDSM, on Tumblr. Domination, on Tumblr. Submission, on Tumblr."

"Did that show you lots of photos of random cocks and tits?"

"How did you know?" Marius asked in a teasing, rhetorical fashion, and Montparnasse laughed, the sound low and contented. 

"Keep reading."

"Piercing photos, BDSM Tower. Play piercings, Wikipedia. Why Piercings?"

“ _Why_  piercings, Marius?” Montparnasse asked, his voice every element of inquisitive.

"Well, I mean, you pierced your tongue and your nipple for a reason, right? And I just- wanted to please, and I thought maybe a little play with them might be- um, nice?"

"That’s fair." Montparnasse said, hand stroking down, and he caught Marius’ right nipple between his index and middle finger and  _tugged_ , drawing a choked gasp from Marius’ mouth. “But you don’t need a piercing for this.” And then he rolled the sore skin between his finger and thumb, and Marius groaned, arching up into the touch with his fingers displayed on the laptop’s surface. 

"That’s true." He croaked out, and Montparnasse chuckled, pressing a kiss to his temple. 

"Keep going."

There were lots of things Marius had looked at. The nature of domination and submission, what good things one would find in a dom, and good things in a sub. Some things Montparnasse tutted and disagreed with (“I would say that speaks for a lack of control on the dom’s part, not the sub’s.” or “That’s not a good way to whip someone. Too much potential for internal damage.” or “What fascinating drivel.”), and others, he approved of.

"Would you like to try any of this?" Montparnasse asked, and Marius considered it.

"I’d like for you to dom me." He said, and Montparnasse looked thoughtful. 

"Would you like to use the traffic light system?"

"I’d like a full on stop. Just safeword as " _safeword”_.” Montparnasse nodded his approval, closing the laptop and setting it aside before moving to settle in Marius’ lap.

"Anything you’d like especially?" He asked, and Marius was struck by the surrealism of their being here, of being here, of talking about BDSM, with  _Montparnasse_.

"I’d like you to be cruel."

"Am I cruel in your fantasies, Marius?" Montparnasse asked, his tone low, deliberate and smooth, and Pontmercy nodded. "Tell me what you want."

"I’d like for you to deny me orgasm." Montparnasse was looking at him, brown eyes deep and soulful and they were going right  _through_  Marius, piercing him, and he should not have been hard, but he was. “I’d like to be desperate, and begging, and I’d like to c-cry, and then I’d like for you to laugh at me and just keep going.” Montparnasse’s lip quirked as Marius’ cheeks flushed, and he looked interested as Pontmercy went on. “I w-want you to spank me, and p-p-pinch my nipples, and- and play with me like a toy.” Pontmercy began to stammer, nervous about what he was saying, flustered, but Montparnasse stroked soothingly over his cheek.

"That sound good. We can do that." Montparnasse murmured, and then he leaned to press a kiss to Marius’ nose. "How about tonight?"

"Not now?"

"Now?" Montparnasse chuckled. "I see you’re going to be a greedy little slut, aren’t you?" Marius’ lips parted, and he let out a soft whimper, but he nodded. "Not now. I want to talk a little more."

"What about?"

"Well, how do you feel about dirty talk? How far, how much?" The conversation went on until it was 3 o’clock and they hadn’t eaten still, and Montparnasse produced his phone and ordered Domino’s despite Marius’ protests of "it’s unhealthy!", and they kept on talking through lunch.

It was a good conversation, and a comfortable one. It was a beginning.

—-

Marius was kneeling when Montparnasse entered the room, naked with his hands behind his back. He’d insisted on feeling his knees hard against the cool laminate of the ground despite Montparnasse’s initial offer of a pillow, and the sensation was a discomfort, but a grounding one.

There was something about the disparity between them - his own nakedness and the way Montparnasse was clothed in his regular four or so layers - that made his heart beat faster, but he couldn’t quite quantify it. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was there and it was  _hot._

He’d given Montparnasse clearance to humiliate him and to degrade him, to speak to him at his leisure - with the promise that if he went too far, Marius would safeword immediately.

"Pathetic." was the first thing Montparnasse said as he entered the room, slowly walking around Marius’ body. He kept his gaze fixed on the ground before him, unwilling to look up and meet Montparnasse’s eyes, but he quivered. Soon enough, there were two well-shined black boots before his eyes, and he shivered, unsure what to say. "No, this won’t do at  _all_.” What was it? What had he done?

Montparnasse grasped his chin and pulled it up in a rough motion, drawing a choked noise from the sub’s mouth. Marius couldn’t help but squirm as Montparnasse met his eyes, the other man’s look piercing. “Your posture is all wrong.” He enunciated every syllable, and Marius immediately wanted to whimper an apology, but Montparnasse was soon adjusting him. “Your chin stays  _up_ , here. Aren’t you proud to be my sub? And your neck should be out like this, bared-” Montparnasse stroked up the line of Marius’ neck with the tips of his fingers. 

"Straighten your back: I’ve no patience for slouching. Spread your thighs apart, at- yes, like that. And don’t steeple your fingers like this, kitten, put your wrists over top each other and rest them on the cleft of your arse, so you’re not tempted to fiddle with your fingers." Marius obeyed, adjusting his position, and it was more of a strain than the last one, but it felt better, and no doubt looked better. "That’s it, kitten, stay there." Montparnasse began to stalk around Marius once again, regarding him carefully. " _Perfect_.” He purred, and while outwardly Marius kept his position, inwardly he had melted onto the floor.

Montparnasse stepped forwards then, pressing his boot slightly against Marius’ cock where it was half hard between his legs, pressing it  _just_  against the skin of his stomach. He let out a choked noise and then gasped, but he managed to keep his position. 

"Oh, kitten, good  _boy_.” Montparnasse purred. “You can take this, can’t you?”

"Y-yes, sir." Marius managed to get out, and Montparnasse hummed, and then he pressed his boot down further. Marius choked out a whine of noise, keeping his gaze on Montparnasse’s thighs and keeping his stance, and Montparnasse smirked.

He pressed his boot down further, and Marius mewled, dropping his head forwards before he wrenched his head up again, and Montparnasse hushed him, reaching out to cup Marius’ cheek. “Do you think, you sweet little thing, that you can come like this? Buck those precious,  _tiny_  hips of yours forwards and press your cock against the sole of my boot?”

Marius gasped in a breath, but he nodded, he nodded, and Montparnasse’s grin was predatory, full of white teeth, and he licked his tongue in a way that made the bar through it obvious in the darkness of his mouth.

And Marius bucked his hips forwards, thrust his cock against the sole of Montparnasse’s leather boot, feeling the slide of smooth leather against his skin as he rubbed himself forwards and against it, letting out choked little whines because God, it was difficult and it was a strain on his knees and his thighs, and it felt  _good_ , but it was an edge of pleasure rather than a full-fledged sensation. 

He didn’t know how long he moved for, long enough that his cock had left a beaded pearl of precome building from the head and dripping against the toe of Montparnasse’s shoe, and that his shoulders and his thighs ached, and his knees  _hurt_. “Stop.” Marius froze, his lips parted, and he took in desperate little inhalations as Montparnasse moved forwards.

And then, God help him, Montparnasse grabbed him by the hair and bodily pulled him up, throwing him forwards and onto the bed, where he landed too-hard on his front even if the mattress and the blankets were soft, and he let out a loud whine. 

The dark-haired man thrust his thighs apart, and then he brought his hand down to keep them that way. Marius buried his face in the mattress as Montparnasse dipped his head, and he  _knew_  what Montparnasse was going to do because they’d talked about it and Marius had taken extra care to clean that area in the shower, but God, it wasn’t the same when Montparnasse dragged his tongue over Marius’ entrance and drew a sharp yowl out of him.

It was so wet, and so  _hot_ , and God, God, the skin was more sensitive than it was when it was just Montparnasse’s fingers fucking into him, and he was letting out loud, desperate sobs of noise as he tried to fuck his hips back onto the other’s mouth, but then, dear God help him, Montparnasse played over Marius’ rim with the tip of his bar, and he let out a ragged scream.

"You desperate little slut." Montparnasse said, pulling back, and then he traced the line of Marius’ spine with his tongue, and it felt so  _strange_ , and Marius let out a loud, shuddering cry. “Do you want me to fuck you, Marius? Do you want to be a little fucktoy I can play with at my leisure?”

"Yes!" Marius sobbed out as Montparnasse bit at the flesh of his arse, leaving marks with his teeth. "Yes, please, I want to be your fu-fucktoy, please,  _please_ , I need it, need it, need-“

Montparnasse pressed a finger forwards, slick with lube from the bottle in his pocket, and Marius went still bar for the greedy cant of his hips for more. Montparnasse played over Marius’ rim, tugging at its edge and drawing choked noises from Marius before he stopped teasing and pressed two fingers forwards.

It was three within a minute, the stretch a slight burn that was so  _good_ , and Montparnasse’s fingers quickly slicked him with lube. “Look at this greedy little hole. This is all you’re good for, Pontmercy, do you know that? Just my little kitten, gluttonous and greedy for cock.”

Marius yowled, but he nodded, taking in desperate little breaths, and then Montparnasse was on top of him, fabric close against Marius’ back as Montparnasse grabbed him by the hair, pulling him back hard. Marius’  _scalp_ ached, and he let out a soft sob of noise as Montparnasse leaned to growl in his ear. “You worthless little slut. You want to be fucked?”

"Yes, yes,  _please_ -“

"Tell me you’re worthless."

"I  _am_.” Marius sobbed out. “I’m worthless, aren’t for anything, I’m just yours, ‘Parnasse, just your kitten, just yours, please, please, let me please y-you, let me- let me-“

"Let you what, kitten?"

"Let me have your cock, please, please-"

"Do you think you deserve it?" Marius took in a desperate swallow.

"Yes?"

"You’re right." Montparnasse purred in his ear, and then his hands were on his trousers, undoing them to quickly withdraw his cock and fuck himself forwards, hips thrusting against Marius and pressing him down against the bed, and Marius’ moan was long and drawn out. "So tight, such a tight, greedy, hot little hole, clenching around me." Montparnasse managed to get out, and Marius was honestly sobbing now, letting out ragged noises as he cried, and Montparnasse laughed dirtily against the back of his neck.

Montparnasse’s orgasm was  _hot_ , and when he pulled back, Marius went limp beneath him, limbs spread wide, head laid on the bed beneath him. “Turn over.” Montparnasse ordered, and Marius did. “My precious kitten.” He murmured, and then he was leaning again, hand on Marius’ cock and stroking it cleverly, drawing strangled whines and mewls from Marius’ mouth. “You’re going to come for me, come, come, that’s it.”

Marius’ orgasm was with a quiet set of mewls, and Montparnasse worked him through it even as he wiped away the semen with a look of distaste - Montparnasse did not like to be messy. “Perfect, perfect, a vision of beauty, my  _perfect_ , precious little kitten.” Montparnasse purred out, climbing atop Marius and pressing slow kisses across his sternum. “That was remarkably good, Marius, well done.”

Marius was dazed, and as Montparnasse pulled him back, he went willingly, pliable and easily puppeteered. Montparnasse wrapped Marius thoroughly in the duvet before pulling him into his lap, wrapping slender arms around Marius as his hand moved up to stroke soothingly over the no-doubt sore part of his scalp.

Marius was dozy, but he kept tight hold of Montparnasse to ensure he did not pull away - not that his dominant had even the barest intentions of doing so. “Was I okay?”

"Perfect, sweetling, positively perfect." Montparnasse murmured. "And all mine."

"All yours." Marius agreed sleepily, and his head dipped. "Can- can I sleep?"

"Sleep." Montparnasse agreed, and Marius closed his eyes, curling close.and nuzzling against Montparnasse’s marble neck. Montparnasse allowed it, hand still moving affectionately over the other’s skin.

—-

There were other games, other experiments.

Marius liked rope, but not handcuffs. He liked to kneel, but not to bow. He liked to bathe with Montparnasse, but preferred to be the pampered kitten being washed and taken care of as opposed to the one serving his master, but either were enjoyable enough.

"Would you cut me?" Marius asked one night, and Montparnasse raised his eyebrows.

"You won’t like it." He said immediately, even though he was skilled with a knife and knew how to make these things as best as they could be.

"Let me try anyway?" 

This endeavour had lead to a dazed and sobbing Marius clinging tightly to Montparnasse as the small cut on his arm was wrapped and carefully cleaned, and Montparnasse had insisted Marius had no need to apologize because he had been a good kitten and safeworded immediately.

The other things were more successful. Marius lived for the nights that he came home and Montparnasse would  _destroy_  him, leaving him too weak to stand and too pained to sit down, when Montparnasse would slap him hard across the face and then kiss him hard, make him scream and beg and cry.

It was months later that Marius settled with Courfeyrac in the Musain, just the two of them and Combeferre, because Claquesous and Montparnasse were on the other side of the room arguing intensely with Enjolras. Feuilly was watching, but just grinning as he watched the blond vociferate as opposed to joining in, seeming pleased.

"Are you scared of him?" Courfeyrac asked in a low, concerned tone. "Even a little bit?" And Combeferre looked ready to protest this line of questioning, but Marius merely looked thoughtful for a moment before he answered.

"Yes, sometimes. He can be terrible." Courfeyrac scowled.

"Does he hurt you?"

"Yes, if I ask him nicely." Marius said in a mild tone, his smile dreamy.

"Does he do  _anything_  you don’t want him to?” Courfeyrac pressed, looking worried, and Marius was pensive for a good minute or two.

"He wakes me up on Sunday mornings far too early." Marius decided eventually, and Combeferre chuckled as Marius reached forwards, laying a comforting hand on Courfeyrac’s knee. "Don’t worry so much."

"I’m not worried." Courfeyrac said, and this time, for the first time, it was true.

 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) Yeah, this was a candid reference to the Anonymous’ [Hullo, You Have A Looking Glass](http://archiveofourown.org/works/825956), here on Ao3. It’s non-con Montmercy, with a big Snow White motif running through it.


End file.
